


That Winter in the Cornfield

by FoxFaith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: <3, Angst, Canon Compliant, Foster Family, Galaxy Garrison, Galra Behavior, Keith's in wuv, M/M, Memories, Missing Scene, Pine Tree Forest, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Prom, Red loves her adopted son, SHEITH - Freeform, Sadness, Shiro Changed Everything, Speculation, teenage troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:49:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxFaith/pseuds/FoxFaith
Summary: "If it wasn't for you, my life would've been a lot different."-Interconnected fragments of Keith's life before the Garrison, after Shiro's disappearance and some he's only vaguely aware of.





	That Winter in the Cornfield

Castle of Lions (Present)

Keith didn't know if the true battle was over. No one had the time to float over to Zarkon's carcass and check for a pulse. Voltron's blade seemed to have done the job, the Galra command center was back online and the wormhole created by the castle would hold only for so long. So, yes, their victory was arbitrary at best.

As his feet hit the deck of the hanger, not waiting for Red to let him down the rest of the way, Keith leaped out of her mouth and sprinted to Black's lifeless frame, panic and desperation fueling his legs to move faster. He stumbled into his strides until the ship's gravity found his mass again, giving Keith an easier time to cover the distance.

“Shiro!”

Only the hatch on Black's spine was able to be opened with a bypass thanks to Pidge when she and the others arrived on the scene. Keith and the team bolted through the corridors in the lion's core till they ended at her head where the cockpit's doors opened upon an empty seat, locked-in black bayard and nothing else. Keith fell forward softly after sobbing Shiro's name quietly, paying no mind to the sound of his armored knees hitting the floor, the adrenalin from the battle leaving him quickly, only to be replaced by white noise screaming in his ears.

The proper noun was a bomb in the silence of the cockpit, the others were just as struck by the image before them, as abstract as it seemed. It took time, precious seconds before someone, out of all of them, moved forward with any idea to counteract the shock of it.

Keith's mind was rolling into a perpetual tumble of thoughts, memories and the most darkest part of his subconscious mind which started to unfurl in its cage, beginning to whisper his most worst fears that mixing into a thick essence, drowning him beneath its surface. 

Shiro was gone.

But where? Why?

It's Kerberos all over again.

The mantra cycled behind his eyes continuously in the time before Allura's hand settled on his shoulder, as she knew the most about loss among them. Her grasp was firm, grounding Keith in his body somewhat. Her expression was lost in the space between sympathy and confusion. She was joined by Pidge next, who sat next to Keith still staring at the empty pilot's seat sharing the same emptiness behind her ribs as him. She knew what that void next to his heart felt like.

Each member of the random selection of people, dropped together by fate, filled in, each taking their place beside the Red Paladin, each shifting into their individual coping mechanisms associated with Shiro's disappearance. Keith wasn't the only one hurting and that helped him, somehow, to understand that other people felt like this too. Being part something else hadn't robbed him of finding solidarity within his grief. 

 

Eventually, the worst of his mind had Keith comparing this to a rainy day at a funeral, he couldn't help it. Loved one's standing around a vague representation of what once was a person, powerless to understand that one day, this person was alive and by the next, they are bones in the ground with a name engraved in polished stone with two dates and a dash that mattered more than the years it sat between.

He remembered the ceremony back at the Garrison to honor the fallen Kerberos crew. The Honor Guard marching up the center lane of the guests, the country's colors flying, dressed in their ceremonial uniforms, the sound of their black mirror polished shoes clapping on the concrete of the grinder, guns resting loaded in the cradle of their shoulders.

The Honor Guard sent the crew's spirits off to the beyond with each pull of a trigger splitting the air, folded patriotic flags handed to loved ones left behind. No one in the uniformed services could have asked for a better send off, yet to Keith and to the remaining Paladins who were there as mere cadets, it still didn't seem enough. Someone, one of their own, was still gone.

This is so much worse, Keith thinks, because there isn't a body and explanations didn't come easily assembled to a weary mind shattered into fragments by an impact like this. He couldn't even find it in him to get off his sore knees. A thought, even that simple, was too much.

-

Nebraska (Three Years Ago)

His foster family of 14 years was made up of a workaholic father, an over bearing mother with high standards and two sons built like a pair of trucks, sporting a mental capacity to obsess over sports, guns and not much else. 

Their last minute little add on was Keith, the extra limb of the family and sometimes he felt it astutely. Even if he had been with them since a very young age. Three or four was how old he was when he came into the family. The faces of his original parents were left as only blurry silhouettes in his dreams and his foster parents made it law to never talk of them. Which suited him just fine. He was here. What did it matter where or who he came from?

His foster brothers were Jayden and Aaron, a pair of fraternal twins who did everything together and that meant they both shared in the pleasure of harassing Keith on a daily basis. Most of the time, it was harmless rough housing or jibing about the particular way Keith dressed. On occasion however, the boys would take it too far and would test the limits of Keith's short fuse and today it was extra short.

“Jayden! Give it back.” Keith yelled down the hallway at the blonde twin who had bolted away with his dagger. 

The dagger was his center point most days when he found himself lost. It gave his mind a place to rest and ground itself within his body as he pondered the mystery of it rather than the onslaught of his insecurities and obligations. In turn, Keith never made an excuse for his attachment to it.

“You gotta catch me first.” Jayden yelled enthusiastically back, provoking his slightly younger foster brother to give chase. Keith, in this foot race, however, knew he would win. While the twins were mostly stronger than him, bred to play foot ball and shoulder the kickback of shot guns while duck hunting, Keith was impressively faster than both of them.

He quickly covered the distance between him and Jayden just beyond the threshold of the back door where their antics had taken them out into the family's corn field riddled with dead yellow stalks. It was winter and although it hadn't snowed for weeks, the air was still brisk as it whipped over Keith's skin as the chase continued.

When within range, Keith lunged to close the gap effectively tackling Jayden to the ground in a tumble of limbs and curses hissed between teeth. Jayden's weight and experience in wrestling gave him back the advantage and it proved to be easy enough to flip Keith onto his back, pinning his arms down.

Responding to the commotion, two more bodies came jogging across the field to inspect the ruckus. One was for sure to be Aaron holding a baseball in his right hand the other, however, wasn't a face Keith could put to recent memory. 

“I took his knife.” Jayden boasted holding it up for Aaron and the stranger to see. Upon seeing it, a burst of intense need to get it back into his possession had Keith flailing wildly under Jayden who looked mildly surprised at the out burst. 

“Give it back you asshole.” Keith hissed making sure that the blond understood how livid he was. Jayden responded by laughing at him and taunted him with the wrapped up dagger just out of his reach. Aaron feeding off of his brother's humor, joined in laughing as well but the stranger stood silently seemingly to be struggling with something.

After a time, Keith had worn himself out trying to struggle out from underneath Jayden. His chest heaved the cold air, panting and his limbs were starting to hurt. He was helpless and the frustration was starting to turn into something else.

“Common you two, I think that he's had enough already.” The stranger finally spoke up. His voice had a playful edge to it but underneath was a suggestion of 'or else.'

Aaron laughed in compliance. “Yeah Jay, give Keith back his knife before he starts crying or something.” 

Jayden boasted a huge smirk down to Keith. “Okay okay.” He relented and let Keith get to his feet. Cold from the frozen earth and without a jacket, he immediately lunged for the knife but Jayden, being the hopeless little shit he was, threw the knife in Aaron's direction with the intentions of carrying on with the game.

In mid flight, the dagger was snatched from the air by the stranger. “Shiro, why do you have to be such a buzzkill sometimes?” Jayden whined.

“The Garrison made him go square, Bro.” Aaron offered.

“Excuse me that's Junior Cadet Shirogane. To you peasant.” Jayden mocked, saluting getting an easy chuckle out of his brother. 

The stranger, now known as Shiro, only rolled his eyes before extending his hand out to Keith who eyed him wearily, keeping mind of the usual type of company his foster brother's tended to keep around. Yet, contrary to his assumptions, they waited where they were seemingly to respect the intercept made on Shiro's part, who kept perfectly still without a second agenda, his eyes inviting Keith to take it.

The ruffled teen took the knife in an attentive manner and turned away without a word of gratitude, glaring at the obnoxious smirking siblings. He hastily departed unaware of the pair of eyes watching him in fascination all the way across the field of shriveled stalks into the house.

Later

The slow night had drifted into the house sending the twins to their rooms to sleep, Mr. and Mrs. Cambell were still awake winding down in the living room and Keith was entertaining his usual insomniac habits by browsing the internet curled up in his plaid pajamas, surfing on his archaic phone. His dagger rested in it's rightful place beside his pillow safely returned without further incident. 

He was absorbed brain deep in an article about time travel and relativity when the hushed voices of his foster parents drifted through the walls over the low hum of the fan sitting on the floor he kept on usually to drown out Aaron's awful obsession with country music, the shrill twang murder on his sensitive ears.

Keith stilled and listened in. Mrs. Cambell's voice or Heather, broke in first. “You can't just kick him out after the boys leave for the Marines.” Her voice wasn't raised, this was a casual conversation.

Was the 'him' she mentioned suppose to be Keith?

A faint tendril of realization started to saw its way into his gut yet he carried on listening. “The state doesn't pay us enough as it is to keep him around, Heather. I work like a dog trying to keep an extra mouth fed around here. Promises or not.”

Tom was the name of the family's father. “Look, he's gunna be 18 in a few months. I'll have a talk with the social worker on Monday to get him some alternate accommodations once he's old enough.” Heather reasoned. “We did agree to take him in till then after all.”

Keith heard the noise Tom made in agreement with the flip of a newspaper indicating he was reading again and it settled into his gut like a molten ball of metal that burned through him. Even if this wasn't a new feeling, it still hurt to know when you weren't wanted around anymore. Was that how his parents felt when they left him?

-

Castle of Lions (Present)

There was an odd hum in the castle that come forth in the off hours; that time where they were to themselves, winding down from the battles or training or just being around each other longer than what was comfortable. The hum made the ship eerie, nearly alive as if it had its own mind like the lions did, although it did little to comfort him this night. Nothing really could in these passing days.

After Shiro had vanished from.....from, he really couldn't piece it together enough to understand what had happened. No one could. The smartest minds on the team locked themselves into the late hours tracing over clues as to where their leader had gone. They went back to the start, asked all the logical questions, studied Black's flight logs; nothing came out of the effort, the frustration of it all was in every sigh and look of desperation shared between everyone.

Black laid as still as a corpse in Red's hanger, unmoving from the point when Keith and Pidge had grabbed her before the jump. What had taken Shiro had also nabbed the spirit in Black's gears as well. 

They were both just gone. 

He sat down, dressed in his civies in front of Black's nose on the metal floor and leaned against her, the coolness soaking into Keith's shoulder. Red, sitting near by with darkened eyes, acknowledged his presence in a wave that washed over his frayed mind gently as if she knew that he was about to tear himself apart at the seams. Asleep in his lap was one of the mice too, the moody blue one, its tiny ribcage rhythmically expanding as it slept on, exhausted from keeping him company all day on the request of Allura. As if he didn't figure that out but to be honest, he couldn't stand to be around anyone else at this point and she respected that.

The sympathetic looks, contending with not being completely human, the questions of his origins swirling around his head like panicked fish in a bucket and the never ending god-awful speeches someone had to break into about how 'they were going to find Shiro no matter what'. Of course the effort was there to find him, that's what the long nights working on 'it' were there for and the intentions were all meant to be good but Keith just wished they'd stop talking about it. 

He leaned his head back against the lion's muzzle. An apology was over due to Lance for snapping at him again, to Pidge as well for ignoring her and to Coran for breaking all of the gladiators trying to cope with his frustration. They really all meant well but Keith was the type to deal with his grief solo. It wasn't any different when he had first heard about the failed Kerberos mission to be honest.

Keith, in spite of himself, surrendered into his head once again. The memories from the past could never stand in the place of the real thing but they persisted to be remembered none the less and on they played. 

-

Arizona (Fourteen Years Ago)

“Keith. Quit harassing those chickens.” His father called out to him. Little 4 year old Keith halted, the chickens causing a noisy ruckus as they fled the scene. His father was sitting on the porch steps next to his mother. The evening was fading away to darkness as the Sun left the desert and the work for the day was done. 

Mother was slightly taller than his dad, with a long dark braid down her back, sharp iridescent, yellow eyes and two feline ears that listened to the birds in the single oak tree in the front yard upon the hill. 

She leaned against his dad cooing at him. “He's practicing the hunt, Dearest. Keith is going to be a great warrior after all.” She boasted combing her claws through Austin's hair who leaned in smiling. Maybe he would be given how much of a feisty, elite fighter his wife was. 

Kessar rose to her feet, walking over to where Keith already had his arms raised wanting to be picked up. She easily swung him to her hip and nuzzled his brow. “No more chasing those birds, Little Love.” His tiny rosebud mouth was set to a pout. But chasing the chickens was fun.

Kessar laughed at her son's dismay, his face skewed up with frustration. “He's a chip off the old block.” Austin chuckled walking up to his wife, his hands sliding around her waist. “He really hates the word 'no'.”

“He get's it from you.” She quipped knowing that Austin didn't care. It was true, his spirit animal was a mule, he knows. “A human thing for sure.”

“If that's the worst he gets from his old man, then I'll take it.” He smirks at Kessar, nosing against her pale lavender cheek. “Just as long as he doesn't pick up sleeping in the clean clothes just taken out of the dryer.”

Kessar raises an eyebrow at the obvious insult despite her son still watching the largest rooster pecking the ground thinking the danger of the toddler, that hardly spoke a word, was gone. “But it's warm...” She mumbles embarrassingly.

“Come on Kess, I'm joking.” He states taking Keith from her, who is still watching the rooster. She still looks indignant with her arms crossed, ears askew as she watches the sunset across the desert expanse beyond their green backyard lawn. After a time, she frowns and Austin knows where her thoughts had shifted to. 

“Did you talk with Tom Cambell?” She whispered to Austin, noting the frown on his face. This was never an easy subject between them. “About the arrangement?”

In time, very soon, she was going to leave. They were on their way here and the longer Kessar and Red stayed, the more she put them in danger. It was the only way to keep her husband and son safe from them. But it was an extremely heavy thing for the parents to hold up. Even between the both of them.

“Yeah. I did.” Austin said with a hidden distance. 

Kessar pinned her ears back, clearly distressed. They knew. If Austin's friend had agreed to take Keith in without fuss, legally within the government as his legal guardians with his wife, then that was the final piece that would send her and Red back to the stars from where they had come from. Keith would be safe with the Cambell family on Earth.

-

Nebraska (Two and a Half Years Ago)

“Oh my. Don't you boys look handsome.” Heather said cupping Aaron's cheek and glancing over Jayden's tux just to make sure that he had left everything in place. He is known to be fidgety. The brothers were suited up and waiting to go pick up their dates in the back of Shiro's pickup truck.

“Where's Keith?” She asked, looking around. “You're going to be late if you don't get going soon.”  
Shiro is standing by the front door, arms crossed keeping mostly to himself but still watching the busy family getting their youth ready for Prom. This was going to be fun for them, as he reminisces his prom some three years ago. 

“Bet he's still blowing his hair dry.” Aaron jokes, elbowing Jayden in the ribs who chuckles. Shiro only mildly smiles. These two knuckle heads were going to be good marines and maybe after getting barked at by a drill instructor a couple of times, they would learn to show some poise rather than goofing around so much.

“Yeah or doing his make up.” Jayden responds laughing.

When Keith finally comes down the stairs, his eyes scan over the family's expressions. His tux, although very fancy, made him want to crawl under the dinning room oak table, not really enjoying the extra stares. Shiro's mildly interested gaze making him uneasy the most. Particularly the way that his gray eyes briefly flicker around his chest area and back up to Keith's face but then the junior cadet turns his head away quickly, as if caught and maybe there's a faint blush over his cheeks too. (Keith takes the unspoken compliment.) 

“You look very nice.” Heather says keeping things rolling like the good mother she is. Keith flushes, not used to the attention but somehow he manages not to stammer. “Thanks.” He can't help that the compliment feels fake, given the content of her not-so-secret discussion with Tom the other night, however. 

Tom Cambell, off to the side in the living room, gets up from the couch and grabs his camera for pictures. Heather wasn't going to let her boys leave the house without one. They stood together with Keith standing somewhat off to the side of the twins. (Where he may have thought he had belonged to some point.)

He didn't think a family so eager to be rid of him would want a family photo with him present. Was that the wrong sort of thinking here or was that just him? Keith's mind flies away with the many thoughts to leave. 

“Shiro get in there.” Heather encourages pushing him towards the rest after the first few photos are taken.

“That's okay Mrs. Cambell. It's their night, not mine.” He says bashfully smiling. “I've already been to prom.”

“Non-sense. You're every bit of a son to me as they are.” She states still pushing on his frame, staggering him into place. Going with it, he shoves his way between Keith and Aaron with his arms over their shoulders, face plastered with a goofy smile, for one quick photo.

“Okay everyone, say 'cheese'.” Tom says raising up his camera but pauses. “Keith, look up here.” 

Keith startles out of embarrassment with Shiro's arm slung around his shoulders, slightly overwhelmed by the warm weight of it pressing down on him, as if it belonged there. He hopes to god that he isn't blushing as much as his cheeks feel heated. 'Get a grip.' In a small way, he notes that Shiro is always doing this for him; pulling him back into the situation to make him apart of something. Even if he didn't want to belong. 

“Cheese!” Everyone shouts with a blinding flash. And just like that, Keith is given his space back. He takes the extra minute to calm himself and regain composure of a cool dude going to prom. Whatever the fuck that meant. He didn't even secure a date for this ridiculous escapade, feeling like putting any effort into the event was pointless. He really didn't want to go. 

Shiro grabs his keys and shoulders on his jacket. “Let's roll out.” He states, opening the front door. Keith rolls his eyes at him. The guy is such a nerd, noticing the 'Transformers' reference.

Reluctantly, Keith follows them out the door into the cool air to see his foster brothers loading up in the bed. Not wanting to spend the entire round trip getting mocked while picking up their dates and going into town to the school, Keith chooses to get into the truck's cab, which also has its own set of complications. 

These being 'Shiro' related of course.

With the twins sitting in the back, chattering away, Shiro puts his seat belt on like a scripted saint and fires up the old engine with a turn of the key. The truck roars to life, the engine settling into a low idle. 

“Ready?” Shiro asks grinning at Keith openly. 

Keith offers a quiet “Hi ho silver away?....” Well that was awkward. With that, Shiro punches the gas with his lead foot, and the truck's tires spin in the gravel until it carries them down the long driveway passed the empty cornfields into the night.

-

Castle of Lions (Present)

He wasn't comfortable in the physical sense, given he was still laying curled up on the deck plate of Red's hanger against Black's muzzle on his numb left side. No, the floor was cold, his left arm cradling his head had gone to sleep, the lights were too bright but Red had helped to ease his mind to somewhere safe, away from the insistent odd little particles of moments that dared to be remembered. Here he had set his mind adrift into the aether of the empty void where something important had once been. 

The extremely bored mouse, Platchu, used his tiny hands to work over his forelock, weaving it into a pathetic french braid that swept to the left of Keith's face once the little guy was rested up. Keith could almost pretend it was someone's fingers from long ago doing the job but to envision that would send him back into the maze, weaving more confusion in his skull.

After Platchu had run out of hair to braid, he got mad and undid the braids to only start again. He was the best out of the four mice at braiding and since Allura had banished him to look after this pup, he got his frustrations out by venting his creativity on Keith's hair. It was relaxing for the mouse however, he held still unlike the excitable Allura. 

“Here you two are.” Allura's gentle voice carried over the hanger. She stopped before Black to put a hand on her chin, still caught somewhere between breaking down on the floor with the Red Paladin and maintaining her air as the commanding officer. The balance between was a thin path to walk and she had taken quite a few missteps today.

“Keith, have you been here this entire time?” She asked bending down, looking over his dilapidated state. Had he taken a shower today? His eyes drifted up to her face at the mention of his name, yet in his eyes, Allura couldn't see anyone home, he was looking into a world beyond her face. 

“Come on. You can't keep doing this to yourself.” Allura's voice mingled with the deeper one in his head, as if these words had been spoken to him or by him to someone else at one point but it was hard to pin down who and when. 

You can't keep doing this to yourself. Who said this? 

Her fingers carded through the braids un-weaving them away from his face. Platchu looked a little peeved from Keith's shoulder but crossed his arms and chose not to make a fuss. 

“Let's get you to bed, little one.” or was it 'little love' she said against his temple? He couldn't decide if she had called him that or if it had been the forgotten, disembodied echos within. As gentle as she could, the Altean lifted the young human into her arms. He weighed next to nothing for her as she bid Red and what was left of Black, good night.

-  
Nebraska (Two and a Half Years Ago)

For the life of him, he couldn't understand the appeal of getting drunk. The idea of someone drinking down three fireballs, two beers and a half bottle of 'Crown Royal' and being able to do shit after was completely lost to him. Suffering from the sleepy type of intoxication, he just had to wonder.

But since he was here, he figured 'why not?' despite the growing list of responsibilities fading into the background, drowned out by the deep bass of the music. And watching Jayden getting wasted was pretty entertaining as well but after a while, he lost track of the twins whereabouts and frankly, Keith didn't give a shit.

After the 'dancing' part of the night was over at the school, Keith had hitched a ride to an after party with the wallflower he had awkwardly danced with. At least he had done one good deed for this night of many wrongs. 

She had been sitting by herself on the side watching all of the other kids with their dates dancing to some slow song on the verge of tears. Keith couldn't take to watching her go through one more level in her melodrama and had offered to dance one slow song with her. He gotten a smile out of her which helped him with his own self loathing act. Someone should leave feeling happy at least.

Presently, Keith was sitting on the couch watching everyone else either playing some alcohol related game or finding a private corner to hand in their 'V-card' as the prom night tradition still stands, as he nursed a beer. Tom could add underage drinking to the list Keith was sure he was building with Heather to sever 14 years between them. What would that matter anyways?

Downing the rest of his beer, he threw the can away and leaned into the couch watching a cute, shirtless guy loosing at strip poker and protesting loudly about it. If Keith had been brave, he would have asked a guy out to prom but growing up in the Cambell's conservative household came with side glances and uneasy shuffling, even if they all insisted that they didn't care. (This could be noted below underage drinking.)

Time rolled on and the beer flowed freely through him and by the time he, with the other loiterers were kicked out for the night, he had his phone out scrolling through numbers for a ride home since his foster brothers had left without him long before. 

He hesitated for a long 10 minutes before his hazy mind and inability to control his proper motor functions had him dialing Shiro's phone number by accident. The phone on the other end of the line rang twice before a groggy voice was patched through.

“Hello?” Shiro asked groggy. It was reasonable given it was two-something in the morning. 

“Hey...” 

“Keith? Is that you?” His voice was waking up, Keith could tell but selfishly he didn't answer back yet, just listening to Shiro's concern as it washed through him. It felt good to have someone genuinely worry over him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just need a ride.” 

“Okay. Um, can you activate the geo app on your phone?” The junior cadet said making shuffling noises, he was getting dressed.

“Okay.” Keith answered back, somehow fighting through the fog to stay on the line and maneuver through what seemed to be 50 apps to find the right one. 

“Stay where you are. I'll be there in 15.” The line went dead as Keith didn't wait for a reply before tapping his phone to hang up. Being an asshole could go on that list too. What number was it up to now? 10 or something?

While waiting, he sat quietly on the curb in his wrinkled, white button up shirt and tux jacket folded over his lap taking in the weird air of the neighborhood at two in the morning. This wasn't the end of the world, he knows. Tom and Heather would be seething at the lips for his delinquency when he returned to their house but they were kicking him out anyways, so the victory written in defiance went to him. 

What he needed to really get on was finding a better after school job and get an apartment of some sort, then from there who knows. It's not like his previous, real parents left him anything more than his knife and selling that was out of the question. What was he going to do? Become a stripper?

Keith didn't bother to look up when the grumpy old truck had pulled to a stop on the other side of the street. He was too caught between his stupor and the thick soup of angst to realized Shiro had sat beside him without a word. There wasn't much to be said more than what was obvious and for all of Shiro's good qualities, it was this that Keith disliked the most. Because facing honesty was admitting that you had done something wrong.

“Jayden said that you intended to stay the night.” He started. “If I had known otherwise.” Yes, if Shiro would had known otherwise, he would have come on the whims of the Cambells and would have delivered him into the open jaws of endless lectures.

“Shame on you for thinking they care enough to check in with what I'm doing.” Keith replies still feeling the lead ball of sorrow melting through the wax of his stomach mixing with the cheap beer and something else he couldn't name. 

“Hmm.” The junior cadet doesn't know how to answer him. Instead he sighs pressing a bottle of water against Keith's hand drooped over his knee. He takes the water wondering if getting a job in construction would be counter productive because it seems like everything around him gets so easily destroyed. Demolition then. 

“What did you tell them?”

“Tell who, what?”

Keith looks at him through his bangs seeing if Shiro is jesting with him. “What did you tell Heather and Tom about me skipping their curfew?”

Shiro's brow frows slightly. Maybe he didn't say anything. “I didn't tell them anything. Do you want me to call them?” Keith shakes his head. “Then I won't.”

“Why not?” Keith asks with suspicion trying to understand the kid's angle. 

“Because you don't want me too.” Shiro states with his easy disarming smile. “Simple as that.”

“Simple as that huh?” Keith parrots sipping the water, it's helping him to sober up somehow. 

“Yeup.”

They sit like that for a small time. Keith didn't bother trying to say anything and Shiro kept his post equally without words although it seemed like he was trying to come up with a plan on helping the temperamental time bomb next to him. He didn't know Keith all that well even if he had been around the family for the last 12 weeks or so. This had to be treated delicately. 

Either way, on Keith's side, he couldn't find it in him to care much about it, given what his mind paid the most attention to but it was pleasant to have him around in a way. Shiro's clean scent rolled over him as the breeze carried it against his cheek and his steady breathing was an easy in and out much like the muffled beat of a favorite song playing in the background on a stereo. 

“You can't keep doing this to yourself, you know.” Shiro speaks low leaning in, trying to see Keith's expression lit only by the lonely street light above them.

“What do you know?” He spits suddenly, breaking the mood, the words not intent on sounding as harsh but something in the troubled teen is bent inward. Maybe it had been the last straw but was it really within him to take it out on someone who had waken up at 2 am just to come get him? He had wanted to reason that he shouldn't but his temper and the alcohol were far from friends within the same vessel and this had been rotting unspoken of for weeks now.

Shiro's startled a bit by Keith's tone but all the merit went to him for holding his ground as he gently answered, knowing that a door had been opened, even if it had been a bit more violently then intended. 

“I know that you are beating yourself up about something.”

Was it really going to be one of the twins' friends that would hold the honor of getting his issues out on the table? Even if said 'friend' was one of the only good things still standing against this storm, Keith had to wonder when did it get to be this sad. He was undignified at the thought to how far he had fallen to this point. Mostly he just wanted to get on with cutting the ties and dealing with the fall out. No where in the process had he thought that someone would bother with indirectly asking him what was wrong, as if they cared. 

Did he care? 

Did he know that Keith's most secret pain was watching a family take him in only to cast him out when it suited them best or to hope that the two people most resembling 'parents' in his life never signed any paperwork to give him their last name? They had kept to the most basic obligation of keeping him alive and not having much made him want to appreciate that small favor but it also made him want to wish for more. Was that selfish of him?

“I..” Keith starts but his words catch on his tongue. Shiro's hand comes up to his shoulder maybe to steady him.

“I'm looking on moving out soon but I don't know where to go.” Keith confesses, finally able to overcome the lump in his throat and speak some truth. Shiro's hand remains.

“That's a large step. Have you talked about it with them?” He doesn't know anything. Shiro can only see the best in people and can't ever think that the 'good' parents of the twins wanted to kick an orphan out on the street but Keith doesn't want the sincerity on Shiro's face to leave so he doesn't correct him.

“I wanted to surprise them.” Keith can't figure out why he's lying, piling on the fabricated story that he was grateful for his fucked up life. Shiro's thumb does one innocent swipe, sending one shiver down his spine, on his shoulder before it leaves, the noticeable temperature change hits as the night's cold steals the warmth back. 

“It wasn't easy for me to tell my folks that I wanted to get commissioned for the Air force, either.” The cadet says looking to the skies that will be his someday, the confession rolling into something mixed with innocents, dreams and ambition. The purity of it burns Keith for some reason, as if the grungy aura of his own life might taint it some how, like watching a lavender poison swirling in clean water. 

Keith didn't want to be angry any more. It made him tired and sent his brain on a question binge that rolled down the proverbial hill until sleep had avoided him and the sun was cresting the rolling hills of dead corn fields. Instead, he opted to keep Shiro talking here in the dead of night in some neighborhood with a street named after a tree. Oak Street.

“What did you tell them?”

His gaze crawls slowly from a spot on the street to Keith's semi interested expression. Shiro has an easy time smiling and opening up to people, the healthy product of a child raised with love and support. “I told them about my intentions to be a pilot and my mother sat down her coffee cup with a stern look and said 'Son, you better get studying.' That was her answer to everything because my granfather had been hard on her when she was a kid to get good grades as most Japanese father's expect of their good daughters.” Shiro pauses to laugh. “She ended up marrying a sailor and moving to Hawaii with him and having two kids. Go figure.”

“You have a sibling?” Keith asks. He admires how expressive Shiro's eyebrows and hands are through his story than its content. His sluggish mind dares him to weave their fingers together but his logic keeps them on his lap.

“Yeah, an older sister named Sammy. She moved back to Yokohama after Dad's second deployment. She seems happier there.”

The conversation get's lost in the little details around Shiro's life, some part of him thinks that by opening up, that it will get Keith to do the same. He's only about 40% right. Keith does open up to him but he remains reserved and only gives tiny incentives to hold the exchange together. Somehow, by an unnamed miracle, they circle back as the serpent bites its own tail.

“Maybe I'll just say fuck it and join the Marines till I figure this shit out.” Keith says finally finding a small thread of rationality while plagued by the vengeful spirits of cheap beer. The head ache tomorrow was going to be a monster for sure.

Shiro beside him chuckles. “Forgive me but I don't see you joining the Marines.”

“Why?” Keith challenges.

“You don't seem like the type to do so is all.” The cadet confesses, looking over Keith's contrast lit expression against the ambient glow of the street light. He looks a bit menacing but in a curious way. “You should aim higher with what your capable of.” His gaze leaves the high schooler's face in favor of the dark, night sky to bring his point into a wider perspective. 

“What do you mean?” Keith knows what he means looking up but he can't bring it into his reality, where someone thinks that he's worthy of something greater than what is believed.

“It's something else, watching you on Tom's old hover bike when we were out in the fields two weeks ago.” Shiro elaborates, branding dangerous words onto Keith's self worth, standing against his most anchored truths yet as the defiant words are born into reality, they become lies. “I think you should put some investment into your talent.”

Keith thinks back to that weekend. It had been him, Shiro and Aaron riding around in the fields kicking up pheasants and rabbits for how rowdy they had been. The most prominent thing he recalls is leaning into the bike, listening to the throttle of the loud engine and gunning it, weaving left, right and bolting through the dead stocks. He didn't know someone had been watching him, having been too absorbed into his own world.

“Hmm.” He hums in thought to the newborn ambition growing like a deeply rooted tree twisting around his heart.

“Anyways, it's getting really late.” Shiro notes. “You can crash at my place and I'll talk with Tom in the morning.” Keith's head jerks up with a slight blush teasing the bridge of his nose. Shiro was going to lie for him.

“Okay.” He relents getting up clenching the plastic water bottle in his fist, unsure. “Hey Shiro?”

“Yeah?” He's looking back, already returned at his truck, getting out the keys, eyes searching through long lashes and the swath of his bangs brushed to one side.

“Thank you.”

Shiro smiles, blinking once. “No problem buddy.” 

-

Weeks come and go so fast when you're on the cusp of adulthood and the winds of freedom have never smelled sweeter for Keith. The Cambells know that as soon as that high school diploma is in his hand, he's packing his shit and saying good bye. Whether or not he walks towards the Marines' or Airforce's recruiting doors is yet to be seen. It's just not that simple.

The choice hasn't been easy for him to pin down with confirmation. Although he takes into account his conversation with Shiro and what doors it had opened within his character, he isn't sure that something with so many regulations and delicate details is great for a guy like him, with his hair trigger temper and semi social avoidance habits. If honesty was used here, he would have to (unfortunately) agree with the twins' sentiments on the joy of shooting things and all the grungy manliness that the Marine's branch promises.

He doesn’t want to fail his first chance of making a choice for himself. This wasn't like picking out the toppings for his pizza or choosing a movie to watch. Whatever branch of service he picks is the one he's going to stick with and there he's going to make himself into something because it seems like the universe wants him to only know how to be nothing. He's tired of only knowing what he is not.

When it's time and he stands before the doors, all words of recommendation are a hurricane in his mind and maybe his sails are torn and nothing makes sense. Yet, the loudest voice through all the wind and rain is Shiro's. Once he's made up his mind, things quiet down, Keith is staring at the poster taped to the Airforce recruiter’s front window. It has a pilot on the front standing proud with a helmet under his arm. Something within the braids of his DNA snap in place and the eye of the storm passes over within.

There are galaxies swirling there and his future never seemed a for sure thing but maybe he can find something that is his to keep. He strolls through the doors, ready. 

-

In the vicinity of the Castle of Lions (Present)

Asteroid fields were a standard scene by now on patrols, giant rocks lining a horizon of stars for many miles to see. The clumps of earth and ice, the failed attempts of gravity to create planets, floated in a ring around the red giant in the center. Some of them were huge and appeared to roll at a lazy pace until they knocked into each other. The smaller ones skittered noisily across Red's hull like sand being poured onto the hood of a car. 

The trip back to the castle would be relatively smooth as soon as patrol was over with or whenever her paladin decided to wake up. The poor kid was tuckered out in his seat with his helmet on the floor by his boots. His legs were tucked against his chest, held in place by his arms. Red could tell that he hadn't had enough quality stasis lately, the dark bruises under his eyes evident enough of that. Was he having those nightmares again or was it because he took to sleeping in her hanger on the floor so often?

She huffed thinking about how much of a mule he was. After all the catastrophic events leading after Zarkon's evident fall, Keith had stopped coming to her, inside of their bond, when his dreams had gotten bad. Back when he did, he was able to find rest where he was finding it now, thus his moronic avoidance came full circle. 

She concluded that it didn't really matter where her pilot got his sleep. The team was trying to keep him busy, presumably so that he felt like he was contributing somehow. He was their leader now and as such, he had penciled himself in to take on the patrols in alternate rotations with the Blue Paladin while their science minds worked on finding clues and their captain.

Red patched a comm through to Blue, telling her that she was going to do another full sweep of the asteroid field before heading back. Her sister yielded and wished her a safe orbit. Truth was, Red had wanted a little more time for Keith to be away from the others, to rest, to be himself. Out here, it didn't matter what were in his genetic codes or that Shiro was gone or that he was supposed to be the replacement for the team's captain. He was nothing more than her paladin who needed rest and that simplicity was good enough.

Red knew that these events weren't the fault of the victims caught up in them. The formula for war was as old as the stars; two opposing factors who can't bring their disagreements to the table seek out to destroy each other, paying no mind to those bound to the circumstances.

Keith, his mother and father, Shiro, his foster family; they were all added in, ever tangled together because of the bonds from love, revenge or otherwise. Yet, Red, if she knew it would come to this, Keith slowly losing himself in her cockpit, she would have done something different. Of course she would but this is just how events ended up.

It wasn't Kessar's fault that the Blade of Marmora had sent her to steal Red from Zarkon, that she had been injured in the pursuit and that Red had sought out Blue for back up. The fastest lion recalled those fearful days, fleeing from the ever advancing Galra cruisers on their tail and how she had almost lost Kessar from exhaustion and injury.

Forced to make a choice, Red had flown all the way to a small back-water planet called Earth where Blue was hiding, in the hopes she and her sister could fight off the Galra and Red could save her pilot. Somehow, Red had managed to lose the cruiser and get to Earth but Blue was so deep in stasis that nothing but her destined pilot could wake her.

Kessar did receive help however, from a local inhabitant of the planet, which Red hadn't been aware of. He was a human called Austin Kogane, who had a homestead out in the desert looking, ironically, for extra life beyond his home world. 

He found it alright, she came crashing onto his large property piloting an enormous sentient warship in the shape of a lion in the middle of the night some 21 years ago.

Red was pulled from her memories back to Keith as he turned to his other side to get comfortable again. He gave a sigh through his nose, relaxing into the material of the seat. Cleansing his muddled mind with fondness, she dimmed the lights and turned up the heat a bit to help keep him in stasis. Poor thing was finally getting some proper rest even though he looked like a twisted pretzel but for Galra, this position was blissful for sleep -well, mostly anyways. How many times had Kessar slept curled in a ball like that when she could? 

The comparison between Kessar and Keith, as mother to son, was something very special for Red to see through the years and even when she had been recaptured by Zarkon, her memories of watching Keith with his mother and father, were sometimes all that she had left to keep the sorrow at bay, to keep her hopes up. Kessar had left her son with her dagger to help keep him safe and to somehow keep the hope of him finding her and who he is alive but Red didn't have any need of such sentiments.

She had been the only lion of the five, to be awake for more than her fare share of the war. Kessar had awoken the lion when she had stolen Red and from then on, the damaging, horrendous affects of the Galra's infection upon the Universe were always hunting her down. 

Her absolute most precious memory was when Keith was nothing more than a two year old, sitting in Kessar's lap as Red flew them in orbit around Earth, letting the toddler see his blue little world from Red's monitors. She remembered how his bright eyes lit up in pure wonder upon the sight of the heavens beyond the clouds and the wash of city lights.

Even if his memories had been cleaned and locked away with quintessence, Red was in doubt that his mind had completely forgotten the sensation of piloting her with his mother. Which explained why he was addicted to it to the degree of enrolling in the Garrison Academy. Just to fill that void of knowing that you belong to something and somewhere else. 

Someday and at the right moment, Red would show him the memories but Kessar had made Red promise her that it wouldn't be until then. So for now Keith had nothing more than the scope of his problems focused on the loss of Shiro and other things. Despite wanting to tell him, his lion knew that it wasn't the right time but soon, she knows. Very soon.

The most important thing was for him to keep on sleeping, to regain his health and reconnect with his team. He could, knowing that Red was looking after him, demanding nothing but for him to find himself again.

-

Arizona (A Year and Eight Months Ago)

Keith rapped loudly on the door before him, stinging his bare knuckles, minding the full laundry bag sitting next to him. There was loud rock music blasting behind the door with a baritone voice following along to the chorus. It was obnoxious to his ears, enough to make him cringe and the singer, who followed along, was way too into it. Who even listens to Bon Jovi anymore? Shiro, that's who and boy howdy, was he flat out murdering 'Living on a Prayer'. 

He smiled knowing the kid couldn't carry a tune, even if it had a handle yet, the senior cadet carried on like a wounded animal, without a care in the world. He was surprised that barracks management hadn't been called yet for noise disturbance given how awfully early it was. 'Hope he quiets down before the coyotes start circling the place.' He smirks, thinking.

Looking down at his phone to be sure of the time and date, feeling edgy, Keith reconfirmed with himself that it was the perfect timing to be here. If only he could get Shiro to open the door, then the itchy, restless feeling that had been carving out his mind all morning would dissipate. 

Trying again to get Shiro's attention, Keith used the tip of his standard issue steel toed boots to knock. After ten swift kicks in the same spot and almost denting the door, the radio was turned down and Shiro finally swung the door open upon the freshman. Shiro blinked a few times trying to understand the disjointed look on his friend's face that ranged from happy to see him to a pent up longing.

Keith, going to his default frown, turned his gaze away from the scrutiny and looked at something interesting in the distance. Shiro sighed down at the bag of clothes, then smiled with a knowing look. Having known Keith long enough, it was obvious that he was asking for something in that odd, wordless way he always did when he was too prideful to say it out loud. To be honest, Shiro was rather proud of the hotshot for getting this far. When they had first met, it had taken two months of innocent smiling and waving to get a word out of him.

Keith remained to himself, observing Shiro from embarrassed side glances as he left him to interperate what Keith wanted. Upon some inspection to what the soon-to-be-officer was wearing; the faded retro 'Thunder Cats' tee-shirt, the gray sweats with a hole in the knee and a pair of mismatched socks-one red the other black-, he could safely say that it was indeed Shiro's laundry day. 

“Let me take a guess here; 'Ol' Bessy is broken again, right?” Shiro said crossing his arms assuming. 'Ol' Bessy' was the only washer-dryer on the freshman side of base. It was an ancient machine that was out of commission more than it was in use. Normally, freshman cadets were given an allowance to go into town to do their laundry but it was an hour bus ride there, leaving many of them spending a weekend day just to have clean clothes. And being in the military, where your uniform is inspected every week, it was a must to avoid demerit chits and detention. 

This was all true, except for the cadets who were friends with seniors, like Keith, who Shiro knew was asking to borrow his personal washer and dryer. On some level it was against the rules to let any first year in a senior's private quarters but since it was Takashi Shirogane, the greatest student-pilot anywhere, things seemed to be easily over looked.

Keith flushed. “Yeah, it broke down last week when someone tried to wash 20 pairs of shoes at once.” He stated, getting a brash laugh out of Shiro who side stepped to let Keith in. Grabbing his laundry bag, he moved past the door into the flat.

Fourth years were granted fully furbished, private quarters after completing their mid-term exams because by then, there were only 15%, out of the starting group, left who had survived the cut. To be that prestigious came with certain benefits.

Shiro's quarters looked more like a bachelor's apartment than a military personnel’s living space, though. Shiro had to keep it clean to the standard but he made it his own. There were posters of old Harrier jets and photos of family on the barely yellow tinged walls, his bed had a blue plaid comforter with one pillow and matching blue sheets stacked with two towers of folded clothes. His computer desk had a Godzilla figurine on it next to the tablet charger as well. The window on the west side flooded the room with lazy lavender shadows in the morning and shown the desert sunsets painted by the hand of God in the evenings. 

The last piece, to give anyone an idea about what kind of secret personality Shiro hid, was the Darth Vader empire recruiting poster he had taped to his bathroom door; the one where Vader is pointing with quotes around 'we want you for the Empire'. Good thing he was sworn under oath to never tell the twins. The kid was a flat out closet nerd and hipster for sure, Keith notes, already familiar with the decor yet still amazed by the stark facade he put on as a TA when in the outside world.

Takashi Shirogane had a natural talent for getting people to not only listen but to execute. His charismatic manners drew people to him and had set him up, from the beginning, to be highly sought after by the military as the leader they needed and the pilot he had always wanted to be. All of it came with high stakes responsibility though and Shiro took his obligations very seriously. 

Shiro couldn't say 'no' if something was asked of him. His big heart and the urge to help others was very much of his personality as his love for running or how many hours he spent with science books. This exchange wasn't fair. Shiro gave so much of himself to everyone yet, Keith wonders what he got in return.

It didn't seem like much. Despite accomplishing so much in the last three years, going to flight officer's school with a fully funded scholarship from NASA and being virtually loved by everyone, Shiro still admitted to Keith that he desperately missed his family in Hawaii and that he worked himself up before real-time flights because the possibility of crashing was all too real to him. 

These smaller fragments, among others, were his personality's core structure, the skeleton, if you will but most of it was plastered over when Shiro needed to hide the vulnerable bits between the bones of his mind- a soldier's mind. That's just how it worked for him, despite Keith's irritation with the fake persona. But the world would never let Shiro rest. It would take and take.

It was good days like this that Keith couldn't bother spoiling in the name of his dreary observations. They would eventually circle around to the subject again but it wouldn't be today. For now, he would concentrate on getting something constructive done; like taking advantage of Shiro's washer and dryer to face the wrath of Lt. Sanchez in tomorrow's uniform inspection. Even if his friend was still measuring his motives.

He has known Shiro since his senior year in high school and not without a cold shouldered, rocky start to their friendship, Keith knew by now that within the next 3 weeks of repeating this, Shiro would give up questioning why Keith showed up every Sunday with a bag of clothes. 

“I've got two loads going. So it might be a bit.” The senior said walking over to his refrigerator. “Do you want something to drink?” The door was fully opened to let Keith view the contents inside.

“Sure. Got anything that isn't a powder based protein drink?” He joked. Shiro mocked a frown, shoving his hands in his pockets, the fridge door closing on its own.

“That's just mean.”

“You know I’m right.” Keith stated smiling, pointing at two canisters of chocolate whey powder sitting on the kitchen table; one unopened and the other half used. Both a standing representation of Keith's blatant point.

Shiro shifted with a smirk and raised his arms, flexing. “How else am I suppose to feed these guns?”

Keith faltered a little, eyes traveling over the taunt muscle and hoping that Shiro was too much into the humor of the moment to catch the blush on the freshman's face. “Give it up. Takashi. We both know you have too many brains in that skull of yours to be one of those guys who spends their time staring at themselves in the mirror all day.” He saves, thinking back to when Aaron and Jayden would do just that.

“How do you know I don't do that while you're not around? Huh?” Shiro challenged raising an eyebrow.

“Because I know that when you're not at the gym or playing baseball, you make anime music videos from Gundam Wing and play online simulator games for fun.” Keith crossed his arms. He won this one. 

Shiro wanted to protest but he was too honest to deny the truth. This was all started with him trying to be a good host in his flat but somehow it backed fired on him. Damn you Keith. God forbid he ever offer this brat a drink again. The buzzer on the dryer sounded off the next minute, putting a halt to their banter. Keith helped himself to some soda while Shiro switched the loads and dumped the fresh pile of warm clothes on the remaining space of his bed intent on folding it.

Bewitched by something, Keith immediately set his drink down and made a bee-line for the clothes. Once within distance, he unceremoniously flopped into the pile getting a surprised laugh out of Shiro who put his hands on his hips after dropping the black shirt he was folding on the floor.

“Why do you always do that?” The irritation in his voice was fake. It was covering up a sort of fondness. “Is this why you came here? To keep me from getting my laundry done?” 

Keith looked up through his bangs upon the question. “It's warm.” He says nuzzling into the soft tee- shirts and sweaters inhaling the artificial scent of roses. Shiro blinks once with a smile, tilting his head, sitting down next to the cadet. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” He mutters, brushing Keith's hair away from his face, his fingers just as warm as the laundry yet somehow, the clothes aren't setting his heart into a gallop and making him lean against the sensation, greedy for it.

-

Castle of Lions (Four Months Ago)

He stumbles into his room alone because the others know to give him space to calm down. After so long without the reliance of another person, Shiro had become self sufficient when it came to dealing with his inflictions but it was the cruelest outward lie. Shiro's mind is constant reflections shifting in a hall of mirrors all around, with him in the center, each quick glimpse of his face is someone else. 

Monster, Takashi, the Black Paladin, Captain Shirogane, Taka-kun, son, brother, pilot, Champion. All of them stare blankly at him as they spin in a whirl of confusion and disjointed connections that tangle up in themselves.

Still trying to push through the adrenaline after the fight, he starts to strip his armor off one painful piece at a time. The hard material had bent in around the back plates, pushing against his shoulder blades where the lactic acid pooled and the armor rubbed bruises deep into the tissue there. It was agony trying to be stern enough to get the plates to slide over his head yet soft enough not to cause further bruising. He wasn't doing a very good job at either, which became apparent after he hissed through his teeth. 

He gives himself a small minute to heave a couple of breaths despite the ache concentrated around the dent. Just as he was about to start at it again, the door to his room slides open without permission and he knows who it is. It's written in a predictable script somewhere.

Keith doesn't need to say anything while he closes the door and silently strolls over. His fingers lock under the edges of the contorted breast plate and carefully pulls up as Shiro relaxes his arms to help things along. The entire fitted piece slides free and Shiro can let out a grunt when he sits on his made up bed rubbing the only sore spot on his left shoulder that's reachable. 

After he abandons the armor near the far wall, Keith remains in silence to himself, on stand by watching the Black Paladin working his hand over the deltoid and there isn't much but one thing that he wants to happen here. But after everything in the last three weeks that has transpired, there's a bright stop sign to all of this, planted firmly in the space between them. Keith knows there's one there for Shiro too, if only one of them was bold enough to cross over.

It takes a few rounds in the arena of his logic to gather the miniscule amount of bravery that fuels the first steps forward. Keith's careful to read every gesture and the hidden curiosity dull within the exhausted expression upon Shiro's face when he finally looks up. What are you going to do next? It challenges, without resistance, broken open to it's softest interior but Shiro thinks there's nothing left within.

Keith thinks there might be a single grain of sand left that remains, a vast landscape of memories and oceans curling over shells and colorful shards of the things that might have broken them within, still they are able stand. The bond was all a mystery, as it is to anyone who has what they used to have. Out of 11 billion people and countless other possibilities hidden between the stars, why them, they wonder.

Keith's hand tentatively reaches out towards the sore area, hoping that the fragile obsidian of Shiro's mind doesn't shatter, leaving the sharp edges exposed. Time slows down to focus on the moment engulfing them in its egotistical agenda. Upon the firm, warm contact he lets out a small breath knowing that he has floated through the chasm and made contact.

Shiro doesn't flinch away but stays very still, subliminally putting trust in what his consciousness calls someone barely familiar. Defiant to the concept, the holes in his brain reason that Keith must know intuitively something that he doesn't. Isn't that why he doesn't have any reason to make him leave? There is something right?

The Red Paladin stands closer when Shiro's defensive, stiff form relaxes as he drops his gaze down and visibly accepts his presence and touch. Keith starts with slow light circles over the bruise underneath the singular black suit they all wear. It's hard to gauge the full extent of the damage, so his fingers remain as they are in their pressure.

Shiro's inner voices finally leave him alone while he drifts in the shell of his body in a completely reactive state at the mercy of Keith's hands. Warmth swells within the abused muscles and Shiro leans in to a particularly wonderful spot being worked over near the base of his neck.

Observing this, Keith knows that many things have changed in Shiro, in who he used to be but he wants to know if this body still remembers. Carefully, the nature of his touch changes, like a dancer switching from the fox trot to the tango. His thumbs sit at the center of the back of Shiro's neck and when he inhales, Keith's thumbs push in to knead.

Shiro seizes slightly in shock to the sensation, breath caught up yet it's not from pain. He startles himself with an involuntary moan that his hazy mind is only half aware of but lord in heaven, he can't remember the last time he's felt this way. 

A small smile sincere in it's minute existence tilts Keith's lips and he can't help the giddiness of it. Yeup, that the ol' boy's spot alright. He sets onward with his thumbs pushing into the torn muscles. Shiro's skin, although a bit humid, is smoothly warm curved over the well worked taunt muscle underneath.

When his administrations lead to the right, over certain tendons, Shiro whines quietly at the confusing mix of pain and something else that makes him want to lay down and give in. Even if it feels like he may not deserve to feel this way, given that one of his men is healing in a pod, narrowly escaping death but that's for another time.

Keith doesn't feel any alarm to any noise Shiro makes. Having done this before, although it may as well be a dream for how long it's been, he knows those sounds and is without shame drawing them out. They have conjured their own cloud of memories, images with garbled audio and faded edges but they remind him that there was something of them left to stitch back together, even if the edges are torn.

After a time, with the Black Paladin finally relaxed, Keith coaxes him into his night clothes and to lay on his front over the bed. The exhaustion in him reminds him of his own need to sleep but he's functioned on less as the product of long years sacrificed to insomnia. This was nothing.

Shiro sighs in contentment when Keith's hands get back to work more towards the middle of his back, his white tank top making it easy for his fingers to slide against the skin. The thin material also gives his sense of touch eyes underneath it when they travel the length of scars branded thickly across the expanse of Shiro's back.

Shiro flinches when he feels the shirt being slowly lifted up. No one on this crew has seen them yet and he's not sure if.....but it's just Keith, his mind insists with its secretive reasoning. He hasn't any incentive beyond innocent curiosity to see his scars, no ill intent. Shiro lifts up to allow the material to slide to under his arms before he settles back into his bed, waiting.

What was Keith thinking about with his eyes roaming over a year's worth of torture and survival carved into the paladin's flesh? He says nothing for a few minutes, choosing to keep his words but the silence doesn't burn Shiro up inside like he thought it would. 

It's just quiet acceptance but it doesn't come easy to Keith who leans over and presses his forehead to the biggest scar carved out over Shiro's right shoulder, that looks like a correlation to the nightmarish procedure done with his prosthetic. Just how deep did these wounds run? How many minutes in agony did he have to endure? Keith doesn't want to imagine but his mind calculates the numbers and they scare him.

Shiro notes the tiny sob against his shoulder blade. It's such a broken, clandestine noise coming from a person who prides himself on his skills because the universe didn't give him much else to hold onto for himself. But by the blessed mercy of fate, Shiro was given back to him. The ceremony of rifles, flags and eulogies in the name of the dearly departed, mean nothing now. For this small indescribable gift, he thinks nothing else can be as worse.

**Author's Note:**

> I had started this story some 6 months ago. I didn't want to do the typical 'Shiro meets Keith at the Garrison' background because there are so many awesome stories with that similar plot line going already. I had also wanted to explore some of my speculations for season 3. They are fun guesses and I'm excited to see if any of them come true. Plus this story is also an excuse to write 'Sheith'. I'm fairly certain that none of this ship's moments in this story will show up in the actual series (hoping I'm wrong) thus as a dedicated fan, I wrote them in. Yay


End file.
